Exile's Honor

for a Companion to fit inside, for Heralds sometimes preferred to know that their partners were as comfortable as they were. Inside, Talamir lay quietly in his cot, and lying beside him on a worn, rag rug was a Companion.

For one moment, Alberich's heart stopped. There was only one Companion that had that special look, that faint aura of otherworldliness—

Taver?

He stopped himself from blurting it just in time. The Companion lifted his noble head, and looked into his eyes.

:Not Taver, Weaponsmaster. I am Rolan.:

'Your pardon,' Alberich murmured, a little unnerved.

The Queen's Own's new Companion nodded his acceptance of the apology. :It was a natural thought, and no harm was done. I am pleased to see you. We will probably be seeing a great deal of each other in the future, but if you will forgive me, I have my charge to tend for now.: The Companion turned his gaze back toward the quiet figure on the cot.

Talamir no longer looked like a corpse, but he had aged, and aged greatly, in—what? Less than two days? He had looked no older than Sendar, middle-aged at worst, before the battle; now he looked old, thin and worn-out with long struggle, his face etched with lines of pain. And he looked fragile. Alberich felt his heart wring with pity, and wondered if, perhaps, it would have been better for him if he'd been allowed to die.

But that was not his decision to make—

Vkandis be thanked.

Crathach tugged at his sleeve, and they left the tent to the Companion and his charge. 'He did what I could not,' Crathach said. 'How he got here in so little time—well, I can't guess. But he did what I couldn't. I could only hold him just out of reach of death's gate; Rolan dragged him back to life, then full awareness, and made him stay.'

'He has awakened, then?' Alberich asked, still in a murmur, with a glance back at the tent.

'Several times. He's quite sane, now, and he doesn't seem to want to die, but he's fragile, Alberich, very fragile. I've told the Queen that he's not to do much for a while, and she agrees.' Crathach tilted his head to one side, and gave him a penetrating look.

'Hmph.' Alberich traded him look for look. 'Then, until you say, so shall I sit upon him, if need be.'

'I knew I could count on you.' Crathach slapped him on the back. 'Now, I think the Queen wants you.'

'So I believe, and I shall my leave take of you.' He hoped Crathach would say something that might give him a clue to the Queen's mood.

But Crathach didn't seem to have any more idea than he did. 'Ever since Rolan arrived, I've been too busy to go near the command tent,' he replied and sighed. 'And at the moment, my services as a Healer are in far more demand than those as a bodyguard.'

Alberich grimaced. 'Wish I could, that otherwise it were.'

Crathach nodded. 'And I. It is good to be able to use one's Gifts, but—' He could only shrug helplessly.

They parted then, but having seen Talamir alive, if not exactly well, Alberich's heart felt a little lighter.

But now it was time to face the Queen. And he was not looking forward to that. For no matter what Myste said, he was not at all sanguine about his reception. Surely Selenay would never want to see his face again, after what he'd done to her. If nothing else, she would never forgive him from keeping her away from her father's side, and who could blame her?

Probably she wanted to see him only so that she could tell him she wanted him to return immediately to Haven and confine himself to the salle from now on....

It was in this mood that he presented himself at the command tent.

The guards—his choice, he saw, with pride—let him past. He tried to slip in unnoticed, but Keren spotted him, and bent down to whisper in Selenay's ear. She looked up sharply.

'Herald Alberich—' she said.